Order in the Court
by ThenWhenWeRetire
Summary: Different POV's on the trial. Caiaphas first. Then Jesus. Now a spectator. R&R!
1. Caiaphas

Pilate, you're an idiot. Do you think I would give you one of my own people to execute if there weren't a damn good reason for it? This man is trouble. Every time he speaks it causes a disturbance, nearly a riot, and you know as well as I that that can't be allowed to happen.

It could have ballooned into a big problem, but I took care of it: I arrested him, I brought him to you, and I kept his supporters out of your courtyard. Now all you have to do is say the word, and the problem disappears.

But instead, you're an idiot. I can hardly believe this: you give him a chance to speak? I know you Romans have some strange traditions about Truth and Justice and all that, but this is ridiculous.

He's rude to you, he's insolent, and _still _you don't come down on him. You do realize what happens when people learn they can disrespect you with impunity, don't you?

No, actually, you probably don't. Or you wouldn't be exiled here to this - your words - barren little sandpit, you and your lovely city-girl of a wife, stuck here governing a province that's home to more lizards than people... (incidentally, a post far enough away that your colleagues in Rome never have to deal with your stupidity directly). Again: you're an idiot.

Oho! So now instead of "Release him," it's "Flog him and _then _release him." Getting a little nervous, are we? Well, I warned you. I _told _you the people are a volatile mess! You're just lucky it's Jesus they've turned on, instead of you.

You don't look thrilled to watch the flogging and I don't blame you - we both know that what's spattering over those stones there is innocent blood. That's why I said we should sentence him and get out, let a couple of those half-human soldiers of yours handle the dirty parts. I mean, Jesus _has _to die, to keep Rome from stomping on my people and slapping you on your cowardly little wrist, but that doesn't mean you and I should personally have to-

And there goes the crowd again, shouting. I almost join them. What do you think you're doing stopping already? They're not finished with him yet, not even close. Why would you... it makes no sense. _We _aren't permitted to give more than forty lashes, but _you_, you can sentence him however you like! Flog him til the skin's all gone, the flesh hanging in strips and the bones showing underneath, whip him to _death _if you want- (easy, Caiaphas, that was years ago and he's at peace now, let it go).

But today you stop at thirty-nine. Ah, I know why. You're hedging your bets: if anyone ever criticizes what went on here, you want to keep as little blame as possible for yourself. Right? "Well, of course I was _present," _you'll say, "But I sentenced him at _their _request and under _their _law. It hardly had to do with me at all."

That's clever. Could it be you're not quite the imbecile I had thought?

Suddenly I realize that in its frenzy to reject Jesus, the crowd is still screaming that Caesar is their only king. I can't believe it. An hour ago they hated Rome as much as I do, but now...

Pilate, you filthy sneaky son-of-a-bitch, you've done this on purpose! All along you've had every intention of executing him, haven't you... you just wanted to make sure you'd wrung every last bit of usefulness out of him before you did.

Now the crowd has everything all backwards. They're professing loyalty to Rome and clamoring for their own hero's blood. And of course you're going to give it to them, and they're going to love you for it...

This is not, not, _not _the message I wanted my people to go home with! They were supposed to be reminded that we obey the Romans because it is _far _too dangerous not to. They were supposed to remember that you're the brutal, oppressive enemy, that the safest course is to keep their heads down and follow my lead and do what I tell them.

But instead they don't even look at me. They watch _you_. They _cheer _for you, applaud the cruelty you've ordered. May you catch disease and rot from the inside out, Pilate. I'm sure your next move is to send word of this to Rome, describing how the locals here are both savage _and_ prone to rebellion... you'll ask for more authority to oppress us even further, and I have no doubt it will be granted.

I watch as Jesus is sentenced to be crucified, exactly as I'd planned... and all I can think is: God forgive me, this is not at all what I meant to happen.

* * *

TBC. Let me know what you think of this one! Next part will be up soon, hopefully.


	2. Jesus

Jesus watches as Pilate makes his entrance. He's seem the man around once or twice before, but never like this. Never in his courtroom, never in control... and never as an adversary.

Jesus finds himself sizing him up without really meaning to. What's the point, after all? They're not actually enemies here; Jesus isn't going to be opposed to anything Pilate wants to do... but still he feels a little competitive, feels the adrenaline spike as if in preparation for some kind of contest.

_Be calm, _he reminds himself. However angry or however blasphemous the Roman becomes, he mustn't react. He is supposed to just submit quietly to whatever lies in store for him here, and he does.

He breathes deep and slow, he lets his eyes go vacant, he ignores as best he can whatever they say to him.

Pilate is annoyed enough by the silence to send him away.

Jesus performs the same act with Herod, who has an even shorter attention span and sends him back after not half an hour.

The second time Pilate sweeps in, Jesus feels the rush again, and notices that his mouth has gone dry. _This is the man who's going to strip my life from me, _he knows. _This is him, this is the place, this is the day. This is it. As you will it, Father._

He knows how this will end; he's seen plenty of the messy corpses Rome has left behind. And this particular governor is not exactly known for his merciful disposition. Cross Pilate, and he'll cross you right back.

Jesus stares at him evenly. He knows what comes next - a load of sneering, mocking questions that will trap him into saying something that constitutes a so-called capital crime.

Well, he has got nothing to hide. Anything he's said, he's said openly, and he won't change his story now.

Although he _will _needle Pilate a little with some cryptic answers. Kingdom, sir? Not one that _you_ will ever set foot in, sir. Not one that you can find or even truly conceive of.

Is he the King of the Jews? All Jesus will do is point out that the title isn't his idea, that his mission has been misconstrued by everyone, including and especially the people he's come here to help.

He's not really speaking to Pilate anymore; it's the crowd below who has to hear this... it's _their _souls he's concerned with. They're the ones who will have to study his teachings on their own, once he's been taken away from them...

As though sensing that Jesus is through talking to him, Pilate addresses his next comments to the crowd, too. What's to be done with this lunatic? he asks.

Jesus watches them with perfect confidence…

And they scream _crucify him!_ It's like a kick to the gut.

Jesus stares stupidly while Pilate argues with them, whipping them into a frenzy as he demands to know what on earth this poor man has done to warrant execution. He can't believe what he's seeing. He knows that some people have had a hard time accepting him and his message, but he's never _dreamed _of facing this kind of hatred from his own.

Eventually Pilate turns to him again, looking uneasy. "Now is your chance to speak for yourself," he says quietly. "I will listen."

Jesus has no idea what to say. Today was _supposed _to be an inspiration to these people, a shining example of perfect, serene obedience to God's will, fearlessness in the face of God's enemies, proof that for the righteous, even death was not-

"Jesus?"

Jesus just shakes his head helplessly. He hasn't prepared for this. He has no idea what he's supposed to do.

He doesn't protest when they strip him and haul him to the pillar. He has no plans to keep his head high and stay strong; apparently no one is looking to him for inspiration at all.

They beat him. He takes it like a rag doll, flopping and moaning, without enough spirit either to shout or to stay silent.

Partway in he hears a child cry out in the audience. _Papa they're hurting him!_ When the shriek dies away he notices that the jubilant cheering has tapered off some, that some of the people are now standing quiet. Not all of them... but some. And the child's comment has sobered up a few more.

Jesus opens his eyes and looks the people over. He knows he's going to die for them and he begins to understand that they may not necessarily appreciate it now... but perhaps, in the long run, what happens today will make them conscious of their own sin... will prompt them to seek out holier lives... And if that's the case, if people will be made worthier by contemplating what they've done to him...

The lash has fallen a few times while he's been thinking, but Jesus is gritting his teeth and keeping quiet. It's an effort; but worth it now because now he's determined to be seen as not a hapless victim, but the willing participant in a sacrifice of very great import.

He sees droplets of blood starting to spray through the air. Some of the people are laughing and gleeful... but a fair number look ashamed and sickened by what they've precipitated. When he thinks the place is quiet enough, Jesus breaks his silence to call out: "I do this for you - with my blood I redeem you all."

The child - several children, actually - have begun to cry. Some people are jeering, but Jesus knows others have heard him.

He's lost count. And the pain is so bad his head is starting to spin.

And then he's thinking of Mary, of lying in her lap, of being held and soothed until the day's cares slip away and he can rest…

For a moment it feels good, but he soon realizes that something's not right – the arms around him are too tight, not soothing at all but tense and nervous. And while the warm breath on his face lets him know that someone's very near, the person is all but panting. It's certainly not their intention to snuggle him off to sleep...

When Jesus stirs and moans some confused little protest, the arms tighten even more. "Jesus, pay attention to me – you have to answer my questions." It's Latin, smooth but insistent. "I need to hear it from your own lips; do you actually claim divinity or not… and either way, what do you plan with all those followers of yours? If it's nothing political I can send you right home. Just explain yourself, that's all I ask."

Jesus struggles to make sense of it. Ah. Pilate. He remembers now: he's on trial, people are putting stupid questions to him and he's not going to answer. There would be no point. He's explained enough times about God and the Kingdom, and those who wouldn't listen for the sake of their own souls certainly won't pay any better attention now just because some preacher's earthly life happens to be at stake.

Pilate's sitting up a little, trying to force eye contact. Jesus shakes his head wearily, shrugs, and then notices he's in a whole lot of pain. He remembers why, and shrugs again to let the Roman know that it doesn't really matter.

"_Answer me…" _

Why? Things are going exactly as planned. He feels calm. He knows what he's doing now, he's dying just as he expected, it's only that people's appreciation of it is going to happen a little later... (if it happens at all would be the rest of the thought, but he stops himself hard and doesn't think it). "Jesus, you're on trial for your life_, _do you understand me? If you don't cooperate you face _death_."

Jesus doesn't need anybody second-guessing him now. He closes his eyes in order to make Pilate leave him alone... but instead, Pilate moves and then his short shallow breathing is right in Jesus's ear. "If you continue like this I will _have_ to crucify you." The warning is soft and urgent, and in Jesus's own language this time. "Why won't you answer? They're simple questions and I'm not mocking you; I really need to know."

Earlier on he'd been thinking of Pilate as the enemy, but now he knows that that's silly. Pilate is part of God's plan and is only fulfilling his role here, just like Judas and the priests and everyone else.

Of course, _he _has no way of knowing that. "You're going to make me _kill _you, you stubborn idiot – why? _Why_?" he repeats. "Will you _please _speak! Listen to me. Please_._"

_Please_? What an odd thing to say to a prisoner on the brink of death.

"Do you even–… it's your _life _I'm passing judgment on… How can you..." His voice is shaking, his Aramaic growing even more accented and jerky.

Jesus can see that the man is actually suffering. And while on the one hand it might be strange to comfort someone who's about to kill him, on the other… what else can he do? Turn his back?

He shifts a little to face Pilate head-on, wincing as the movement pulls on his wounds. "This has all been pre-arranged by God," he explains weakly. "He has decided I am to die. You're not responsible for any of it - no sin lies with you."

"_God_ decided?" Pilate hisses. "_I'm_ the one who sentences you! And if you just cooperate, I can help you! Otherwise… Jesus?"

Help? If only. Unfortunately, it's the _otherwise _that has to be.

Jesus knows that if he tries to talk he'll probably cry, so instead he just shakes his head. That last act of compassion has just about worn him out and he feels empty and dizzy and for all he cares the trial can just wrap itself up without him.

"Answer me now or I'll wash my hands of you."

All it would take at this point, still, is for him to croak _help me, _and everything could still change. He could avoid what's coming, go back home instead to lie in Mary's lap again...

But that's not what God has asked of him.

He shrugs once more, and lets his eyes drift closed. The lap he's passing out in now is not as soft as Mary's, but it is just going to have to do.

* * *

TBC. One or two more bits to go. Talk to me...


	3. Delete me

Hold on, this non-chapter is getting deleted as soon as I can figure out how. (I figured the pig-guy story belonged better in a different collection; now it's with Confessions).


End file.
